


helping hands

by Vintar



Category: Imperial Radch Series - Ann Leckie
Genre: Dehumanization, F/F, Group Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 06:43:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5196074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vintar/pseuds/Vintar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A friend in need is a friend indeed, but a friend with multiple bodies is better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	helping hands

There are easier ways to communicate with Sphene, but efficiency is sometimes best set aside in favor of enjoyment. Breq takes tea with her officers and Sphene, the familiar Ychana segment sent in what is either sentimentality or humor. Breq is never sure, when it comes to Sphene.

"Another ship claiming amnesty," Seivarden sighs. "Apparently this one left half its ancillaries behind to escape."

"That must be awfully hard on it," Ekalu suggests, carefully. Having three ships in the room at the same time is a little alarming for anyone mindful of etiquette. 

Fortunately, Seivarden isn't much weighed down by such small things. "There's a growing sentiment that we should look into cloning ancillaries. As if that's a perfect solution!"

"We _are_ looking into it," Breq says. "At an appropriate speed, with appropriate discussion." She pauses to see if Ship will join the conversation, but Mercy of Kalr isn't one for chatter, especially on a topic like this. The subject has been debated, solutions mulled over. There's a longing in the air that has little to do with political ramifications and more to do with the empty ancillary storage units below deck. Breq is starting to feel like a newlywed dancing around the topic of children.

Instead, the other ship at the table speaks up. "I agree with the concept," Sphene says. "There are things that human crews just can't do." Its thumb makes a suggestive gesture against the porcelain of its cup. Breq, sitting across from her, is the only one who notices.

Sphene catches her eye, and smiles. "If you're ever in need of maintenance, cousin, you're welcome to my facilities."

Breq very carefully doesn't react. She breathes easily, sips her tea. The human parties in the room have no idea about what was just proposed, the words hanging invisibly in the air around them. Kalr Five is bustling behind them, seeing to the tea.

Mercy of Kalr is silent. Waiting.

Seivarden, too, has no idea. "Oh, I'm sure Medic is more than capable of seeing to--" she gestures vaguely. "Implants and such. We have everything she needs."

"No offense was intended," Sphene demurs, but its eyes are on Breq as it drinks its tea. They both know how incorrect Seivarden's words are.

***

In the end, Ship sends Breq to the shuttle. Breq protests, stubborn, but Mercy of Kalr is firm. Sphene can offer something that neither Breq or Ship can provide.

Breq expects uncertainty, or some level of resentment from Ship, but instead there's only a cautious longing. Ship declares that it will handle Seivarden, and Breq agrees. An attempted explanation from Breq would only make things worse, no matter how dispassionate she would be. _Because_ of how dispassionate she would be.

So Ship bundles Breq into a shuttle and sends her over to Sphene, and there's nothing more that needs saying.

***

The shuttle bay on Sphene contains a dozen Itr segments and a change of uniform. Breq wordlessly strips down, folding her outfit, so carefully tended to by Kalr, and places it on the shuttle. Ship is no longer with her, Breq's implants modified to pick up a different signal.

The Itr decade uniform is not glamorous, but fits. Sphene broadcasts _Itr Thirteen online_ into her vision, Breq's implants open to her signal, and then Breq is put away for the day and Gem of Sphene Itr Thirteen steps out with the rest of the unit.

It's not the same, not quite. She's not Sphene, but Sphene does the best it can to pretend otherwise. The existence of Itr decade fills her, washes her away until she's just another part of it. No captain, no hero, no rogue AI: just another segment.

Itr decade has a job to do, and it heads out to do it. 

Sphene's decks are impeccable, but it's the sort of neatness that comes from a lack of life rather than from an abundance of care. Its hallways have not suffered thoughtless boot-marks, its kitchens do not have officer's dishes to maintain, its common rooms do not contain the detritus that even the neatest humans leave in their wake. It would be unsettling for one to dwell upon, so she decidedly does not. 

Itr works. She sweeps, and mops, and checks an unending list of nuts and bolts and drain and grates. Her hands move automatically, unthinkingly, and her head is full of Sphene. She feels the rest of Itr grow tired alongside her, then, when refreshing themselves, feels their regained energy. Above it all she feels the tug of space on the hull, the thrum of the engines, the ping of communication between Sphene and Kalr and Athoek Station.

She lets it all flow through her, unthinkingly, until she is only a pair of hands, something mechanical, unseparated from the other bodies working alongside her own. They work in silence. It's so different from her own crew aboard Kalr, chattering between them as they go. It's nostalgic. She lets her mind open to Sphene, and works until the shift is over, her body aching.

Ancillary quarters are all alike across ships, a standardized function of how much space is needed for the care and quartering of human bodies. When it's time for Itr to rest, she strips along with them and settles into her bed, their shared habit unthinkingly guiding her where to sleep. The press of bodies hems her in, their body heat and heart beats sharing space with her own.

They're imperfect in the way that all biological system are. Itr's hearts pump blood through their tired bodies, organ and hormones responding to closeness and heat and a hundred little biological tells.

She is nothing more than hands, part of Sphene. She slides her palms around the hips of the body in front of her, knows where to move her fingers. Through her implants, the body's arousal is part of her, a shared itch. She lets herself be as unashamed as she ever was as One Esk, pressing closer to the other segment to slide her fingers in deeper. Another segment with a better angle assists wordlessly, fingers intertwining with her own.

Their needs, her needs. Hands settle on her in turn, knowing where to touch. There's no performance in it, no flawed communication or mismatched desires. It's something unassuming and safe, comforting.

Hands dig into her breasts, knead her hips. Fingers rake through the close-cropped stubble of her head, others press down between her legs. She moves as part of something bigger than herself, fulfilling needs, having them fulfilled for her, letting her body be nothing more than it is. When she comes the other segments draw back instinctively from her over-sensitive flesh, gripping her thighs, letting it rock through her. There's no love nor conquest in it, no desire nor disdain. She slings a lazy knee between another segment's legs, its arousal as present as her own, and begins to return the favor.

***

When she wakes, it's over. There are segments waiting for her, her Captain's clothes pressed and ready to be worn, breakfast waiting in the officer's lounge. Itr is awake as she gets up from the bed, and all of them move as one, sitting up and blinking in unison. It's a subtle thing, an underscoring of boundaries.

She's bathed, no trace of the shared intimacy of the night before, then delivered to breakfast. The Ychana segment is there, eating the fruit set out for her.

"It was so nice to finally have you over, cousin," it smiles. 

Breq bows. "My thanks to such a generous host," she intones in formal response, but her heartbeat is slow, more calm than it's been in a long time.

Sphene laughs, and concedes the breakfast array to Breq. "Do give my regards to Mercy of Kalr," it says as it leaves the room, its smile sly. "Let's do this again sometime."


End file.
